The Man In The Long Black Coat
by Kristenssister
Summary: Spike strikes out his own, trying to learn how not to be the side-kick. Of course, as always, he learns the hard way. Chapters include original favs and O/C's. My first fanfic so please r
1. Past Tense

_A.N: This is season … I would like this to follow alongside canon, but the twists and turns the comics are taking make that difficult, so you can imagine this taking place whenever works for you, but it definitely takes place after_ 'Buffy' _and _'Angel' _finales. I 'm doing this in a season format, and all 'episodes' will be broken down over chapters. _

_Please enjoy, and since this is my first fanfic, please leave a review if the fancy takes you, and if you'd like more. I'd like to give a shout-out to my fab sister, Amberssister, for being my Beta._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy, Angel, or anything therein. The toy box is mine, but the toys are not. All rights and praise goes to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the Buffy/Angel writing staff, and various other entities. I make no profit; I'm just having fun._

_**Episode 1: **__**All These Things That I've Done**_

**Then…**

Spike stood banging on the television.

"Damn thing. Just when something good's gonna be on telly. I ought to smash it to bits and pieces!"

He was in his crypt. A snake wrapped its way around the candles he'd lit, but never even caused one to drip. It went and coiled itself in the corner.

The telly was flipping like the vertical hold was off, showing different images. Spike recognised some; others made no sense, but it felt like they went together like puzzle pieces. He'd gone through this before; _seen_ it before. He'd seen this programme many times, and it still didn't always make sense. Time for something new.

Time to change his clothes; he'd been out fighting, looking for a spot of violence. The others, the Scoobies, didn't understand. He fought as much to kill demons as to kill the rage inside of him. Right now, he couldn't remember why he was so angry. He felt that understanding, that knowledge, surfacing, and fought it back.

The telly – right. He looked a mess. Been tossed about more than he'd thought. It'd been no more than a tussle, but his black shirt was ripped to hell and back. Black? Or was it blue? Sometimes he couldn't tell. Sometimes his shirt was ripped, and he _hadn't_ been fighting. Best not to think on it. The telly was shot.

Buffy's face flipped up, then Buffy fighting demons. Sunnydale had so many. Dru flipped past, then again, laughing. It was a knowing laugh. He'd seen this before. Wasn't it time for something new? Faces flipped past. Some recent, at least to a vampire, some much, _much_ older, but he knew almost every name. He'd killed most of them, after all. Angelus had killed the others, to show him how, like a wolf teaching a pup how to hunt, how to kill. But, no wolf ever taught how to terrorize, how to _enjoy_ it. He saw all of this and stood transfixed, staring at the screen. There was a slight scraping sound. Likely, anyone else would have missed it, but Spike had vampiric hearing, and turned before the crypt door was completely open.

Buffy stood there. She didn't look tired as she had when he'd last seen her. There was something about that last meeting that Spike knew was important, but as he tried to pull at that memory, it faded like a sunset. Buffy came towards Spike, a smile half-playing on her lips.

Buffy tilted her head up to look at him, her warm eyes taking in his and said, "I told you Remember? Said I'd always come for you. We'll, now I've come."

She pulled a stake from behind her back. The snake uncoiled and hissed as if it were ready to strike. Spike backed into his cement coffin, hands in front of him. He couldn't help but notice that the television had straightened out, now showing images of Buffy fighting and staking vampires.

"Buffy, love, I'm very happy to see you, but pet, I'd be ecstatic if you'd decided to do the meet and greet without the deadly weapon. Think you could put it back where you got it from? I'm so glad you're alright, but I'm doubting you've come here to get kinky so -"

Buffy held up the stake and started walking towards him, and, unless he started throwing blows, he had nowhere to go. He looked in her eyes, and they look frightfully determined. He asked, "Buffy, are you okay?" She answered: "I'm fine. I've never felt more clear. I have been chosen. It is my duty to kill dead things. _You_ are a dead thing. I _have _to do this. It's clear to me now."

Spike looked for an exit. There were two: the door to his crypt and the entrance to the tunnels. The snake was coiled around it. He tried to move, and couldn't. He tried to reason with her.

"Buffy, I did things to make myself better. We had something special. It might not be what you and angel had, but it _was_ special. I have a _soul_; I'm a _person_. By _now_, right? Please, Buffy; I can't hurt you. _Please._"

Buffy never even blinked. Her face did soften after a minute. "Angel didn't understand, either," she said. "He fought harder. I don't know what that means. We _had_ something, but that was before everything became clear. You're dead. I kill dead things. It's obvious. I wanted to explain, but it's time."

She raised the stake to put it through his heart, to turn him to dust.

"You bloody killed _Angel_?" he exclaimed. Buffy looked at him as though he was thick.

"I told you. I kill dead things."

Spike punched her with his right hand, and tried to grab the stake with his left. Buffy, her expression never changing, anticipated his grab for the stake, bringing it down and around. "Angel fought harder," she said again. "I think he would have killed me." She looked down, as if in shame. "I never should have let the two of you near me. That was very bad. I'm sorry. But, the outcome has to be the same. Clearly."

She stopped and looked at him. Her expression turned to pain.

"You went through so much. I mean you hurt muchly. You saved the world." She went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Thank you. I meant it when I said I loved you." She shoved the stake through him. He felt the pain of the wood, the pain of the dusting. Somehow, he hadn't thought she'd really do it. He didn't have last thoughts. He had pain, and last sights: Buffy before him, watching him turn to nothing; the snake hissing; Angel, smiling with his arm around Dru, laughing and laughing on the television

Then, nothingness took him.

**Now…**

The door banged open with no to-do. Ashley poked her head in.

"Spike, it's night. Our turn to take watch; come on!"

Ashley disappeared down the hall. She had an abrupt way about her that Spike could respect. They didn't always get along, but they had a mutual respect for each other. Spike sat up and shook off the nightmare, not the first and probably not the last. He was still working things out, but right now, he could take his turn on watch.

He pulled on his pants and his shirt, his _blue_ shirt, by chance. As he finished, Ashley poked her head back in the room, looked satisfied Spike was dressed, and stalked away. She carried a battle-axe. Spike hoped she wouldn't have to use it. She got…wild in battle, and he could respect that too, but it'd gotten her into trouble more than once. The other members of their group were not so enthusiastic.

He passed Julie and Marcus on his way to the 'fridge. Julie was small, with blonde hair, timid in conversation, good with a stake or small edged weapon. Marcus was a poncey bastard Spike would like to have five minutes alone in a room with, and then throw out of the house, but he was god with a sword and they were all refugees.

The missing member of their cosy little family, probably eating in the living room, as he was wont to do, was Tim. Tim almost never spoke, unless it was to Julie. He dressed in all black, was thin as a whippet, wore eyeliner and fingerless gloves. Marcus never gave him any peace.

Spike grabbed his mug, filled it with blood from the 'fridge, and put it in the microwave. Pig's blood; could be worse. The microwave dinged, and he took his breakfast out to greet the night, and whatever awaited him there.

"You get any sleep last night?" Ashley asked as he settled next to here on the cliff that overlooked the caves below.

"Some. What'd make you ask?"

"You moan in your sleep, and there's no woman in there with you." She half laughed this, all the while looking out over the cliff's edge. If there were to be trouble, it would come from the things in the caves. On some nights they did what they'd started referring to as 'cave diving'. They went in and cleared out whatever was dwelling in the caverns. But, despite Ashley's enthusiasm, and Spike's experience, they didn't have a strong enough force for a real battle. Spike mostly kept them from what would ultimately be suicide.

He wasn't used to being a General, at least not in a situation where he cared weather the people he sent into battle lived or died. All of that was different now. Spike chuckled and set his mug down. He looked at Ashley, ever vigilant, and remembered meeting her for the first time.

He didn't like that memory, but those are the ones that flood your conscience, and your conscious thought. He had a lot of those memories. As he looked out over the cliff's edge, he started thinking about the last few months…

**To Be Continued**

**So what did you think? Please leave a review if you'd like more.**


	2. Judgment Calling

Episode1 All These Things That I've Done

Spike was walking, and had been for the last ten miles. The first few miles were amusing. Miles four to five somewhat upsetting, but the last five miles were plain pissing him off.

His auto, a pretty, classic, and fundamentally doomed Camero had died. It wasn't even a good death. It had not died crashing into a horned Sklux demon. No. It died slowly, at no more than four miles an hour, for no more than one block. Nothing was to be done for it.

Now here he was, walking through this mostly abandoned, knackered town. No usable automobile in sight, though he'd tried a few in what were admittedly low hopes.

Since word got out about demons, despite all government's fervent denial, then military force, and then fervent denial again (in the hopes that everyone was thick as planks) demons had been swarming the smaller, less populated areas. Much like this poor little town.

Everyone was dead or gone. The demons usually didn't stick around either. Of course, there were some bands, like the Hellions, who'd always made places like this their home. There were usually some hangers-on.

Like the Sporliaks demon behind the house on the corner. Likely, it would try to mug Spike, possibly kill him, though they usually only did that when killing the victim passed their powers on to the killer. Spike, being just a vampire, was unlikely to be murdered, in fact unlikely, by dint of being Spike, to fall victim at all.

Sporliak demons were the highwaymen, footpads, pickpockets, muggers, and fences of the Underworld What they did they did for money, for the highest bidder, and under the cover of darkness. Unfortunately for Sporliaks their eyes glowed in the dark.

Spike might be just a vampire, but he was a mightily pissed off vamp, with sore feet, and a curiosity to see what the Sporliak was holding. It might mean an easier trip for Spike, but would definitely be discouraging to the Sporliak. Whether or not he killed it, well, Spike would have to see how violent it was. But the chances were looking better with every sore step Spike took.

He stood whistling as he walked down the street, an upbeat ditty. As the demon rounded the corner to accost him, Spike swung around and grabbed it by the throat in a blur of speed, and slammed it into the tree in front of the house in one fluid motion.

Spike spoke, "So let's see. Sporliak demon, deserted street like this, you're either desperate for someone like me to come along, and you've been waiting a _long_ time. Or, option number two, you've picked this little berg clean and you've got a shed load of goodies you're gonna give me, and maybe you get to live. So, which is it?"

The Sporliak, a short thing with stubby horns and greenish skin and rag-tag clothes, swallowed hard as he could with Spike's hand around his throat, and started reaching for his bag. His voice was hoarse and surprisingly high-pitched.

"Hey, I've got some goods! Things a vampire like yourself could really appreciate, ya' know? But, uh, man, could you loosen your grip? Some of us _have_ to breathe, ya' know?"

Spike held him with his right hand and pulled out his cigarettes, and lit one with his left.

"No. I don't think I will mate. And if you so _much_ as breathe I'll rip your head clean off, right? But, I think I'm in a charitable mood, so let's see what's in the bag, yeah?"

The demon lifted up the bag, and Spike took his hand off the Sporliak's throat and picked it up. The demon started to run, and was met with a surprising, at least to the demon, left hook, and he face planted, holding his head. Spike looked down.

"I told you. And by the bye I was whistling. _Whistling, mate!_ You as much as deserve what you get. I mean, who doesn't know _that_ one."

Spike looked through the bag. There was the usual catch of spells and charms, along with some actual goods, like a leather belt, and a silver straight razor. Just stuff you could sell or barter with. But there were other tings.

He picked up a dark crystalline ball. "A Sanguine Drain. I've only ever heard of one of these." He said it quietly, perhaps a little reverently. His eyes caught a glowing blue orb. It shimmered and shined.

"Is this what I think it is?" Spike asked as softly as a cat stalks.

The Sporliak was shifting his eyes, unsure whether the tone in the vamps voice bode well for his survival. But it was a temporal orb. It held a man's future. You could do a lot with that. A vampire would kill to get that.

"Yeah. It's what you think it is. Had to go to _a lot_ of trouble to get it too! It's yours, all of it. Just take it man. It's cool!"

Spike stood staring at the two orbs in his hand. His voice was very quiet.

"How much trouble, mate? How much of a fuss did you have to kick up to get your claws on this? Tell me." He smiled.

The Sporliak relaxed a little. "I had to take his child. You'll love this! He cried! Begged me. Said he'd do anything as long as I'd let his little boy go. Just wanted to get the hell outta town. Well, whoever gets that orb will probably put him in more hell than a quick death here would have been. Humans never think it through, ya know isn't that rich?"

Spike looked at him. "Did you let the boy go?"

The Sporliak looked at him for the first time like something might be wrong with this picture.

"What?" it asked.

Spike threw his cigarette butt at him, picked him up, and threw him against the tree again.

The Sporliak was trembling. "Of course I let the boy go! I had to. A deal's a deal, right? Besides, his leg was broken. I don't think I could have gotten much for him. What's your deal man?"

Spike placed the two orbs in his pocket, and kicked the bag away like trash.

"My deal?" he asked as he pulled a knife out of his coat. "My deal is deciding how much I was going to kill you. A lot, if you're curious, but not as much as I would have if you'd hurt the boy. Now, I usually call someone in for torture. Angelus was a bloody genius of it, mad for it really, but you tend to pick things up after two hundred plus years. So be very, _very_ glad you didn't hurt the boy."

Spike had the demon pinned to the tree, knife in his left hand. He was practically straddling him. He leaned in.

"But, the temporal orb, now. Well, I can't let that go. Wouldn't be right. You understand."

The Sporliak's already over-sized eyes were the size of softballs.

"Angelus? You mean _the_ Angelus? The vampire with a soul? But, that would make you…"

Spike's smile faded from his face. "Yeah. That's me. Just as bad with half the give a damn."

The Sporliak was begging. "But why are you doing this to me, then? You said you'd let me live!"

Spike shrugged. "Said "might", mate."

The Sporliak practically spat at him, "I thought _you_ were the big, evil one, now!"

Spike stuck the knife in, looking him in the eyes. "Oh, yeah. I'm the Big Bad. Pass it on."

The Sporliak collapsed dead to the ground. Spike walked over to the bag, and reached into it without even looking and pulled out a spellbook. He started walking down the street again, but this time he wasn't whistling.

About thirty minutes later and an hour to sunrise, Spike had holed up in a house, in the basement. He'd pulled the curtains, but he'd also put aluminum foil on the windows. You couldn't be too careful.

He'd found a torch in the junk drawer in the kitchen and batteries in the linen closet.

He lie on a pallet on the floor, shining the torchlight on the two orbs he had liberated from the Sporliak. He looked at the temporal orb. The way it shined, now blue, now green was mesmerizing.

It was a man's entire future. Do nothing with it, and he'd live his life out. But no one gave their future away and lived it out. Any witch or warlock worth their salt could pull that potential future and energy and use it like an energizer battery for many spells.

The man could be manipulated to do as the owner wished. They could make him a murderer, an unwitting assassin to eliminate their enemies. Plus, they were exceedingly rare, as the victim had to agree to give his future away.

Yes, the owner of such an object could barter for anything he liked. Spike could do a lot with this. Like give it back to the man it was taken from. That's what the spellbook was for. No Sporliak would have the skill or wit to steal a man's future or conjure a temporal orb on it's own.

Spike set the temporal orb aside and shined the light on the darker crystal. It looked like a crystal ball pained black on the inside, and rimmed red on the outside. Spike concentrated his energy, and the ball lit up, slowly filling with red swirling light. The red swirling energy of his blood.

Spike felt vaguely sick. He didn't know if it was an effect of his blood filling the crystal, or because he _knew_ it was his blood in the crystal. He closed his eyes and fel an alien filling sensation as he drained the crystal.

He opened his eyes, and the sphere was dark as night. A real Sanguine Drain. Nearly legend, he'd only heard rumors of them. There weren't many.

They weren't made for vampires. Dark magicians who used the blood of others in their magicks made them. It didn't hurt that you could drain an enemy in one go, because the sphere was small, the size of an orange maybe, it could hold vastly more than it's own size. You could drain several people of their blood before it was full.

No, it wasn't made _for_ vampires, but Spike had sensed it immediately. A person could be drained of their blood with no injury to their body. Nothing would connect the attack with a vampire at all.

Spike sat the dark crystal aside. He would release the energy from the temporal orb, and destroy it. But, he was keeping the Sanguine Drain. For some reason he didn't like the idea of disposing of it. Some legends said they _couldn't_ be destroyed. Either way, he was keeping it for now.

Maybe it was the right thing to do, maybe the wrong thing. He was trying to walk a moral line. Buffy had always walked that line like a razor's edge. Spike was still walking the highway, much less a razor's edge. Or rather, he _was_ walking a razor's edge. He just had nowhere to land if he fell. It was a judgment call, but it was his.

Spike decided to try and get some sleep, because the gods only knew where he'd be tomorrow. His last thoughts as he closed his eyes, like the end of almost every night, were about his soul. If he should die before waking, who would take his soul? Hell, who'd have it? He just hoped he lived through the day. Just _this_ day. Then he'd see what the night would bring.


End file.
